


mors immatura

by WolfesPuppies



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Character Death, Coma, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist With a Cane, Light Angst, Memories, Wakes & Funerals, its tim, mentioned - Freeform, only mentioned once but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 12:06:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfesPuppies/pseuds/WolfesPuppies
Summary: Jon realises he's never been to Tim's grave. He changes that.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	mors immatura

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe I'll write a non-angsty post canon fic one day. Maybe.
> 
> Obviously, this involves a lot of conversations about death and grief and missing people. Also a little bit of Jon dealing with the trauma of his coma. I think everything is tagged, and I think it's straight forward enough to not need extra CWs in the end notes, but please let me know if you think otherwise!
> 
> I took a stab in the dark at both Tim and Danny's birth years.
> 
> I wrote the vast majority of this in one day, and haven't really gone back to edit it, as usual. I hope you enjoy!

“Do you know where Tim is buried?” Jon asks out of the blue one night. He's lying on the sofa, idly scrolling through his phone as Martin watches a show Jon has little interest in.

“Hm?”

"Tim. Do you know where he's buried?” Martin's reaction is more startled now he's actually heard what Jon said, and he pauses the show to turn and look at Jon, who pus his phone down.

“I do. Why?”

“Will you take me?”

Martin hesitates for a second before nodding. “Of course. Just- why?”

Jon fiddles with his phone for a few seconds as he corrals the thoughts that have been whirling around his head for days into a coherent sentence. “I've just been thinking about him a lot recently. When I woke up, everyone had already had their chance to grieve, and had at least accepted it, but it had only just happened for me. And you were busy, Basira and Melanie didn't want much to do with me, and Daisy was in the coffin. “

Martin winces at the reminder of the time spent with Peter, but Jon isn't finished.

“I woke up from six months of living other peoples nightmares and went straight into my own. I intended to go, but I didn't know where, and there was no one around I could ask, and then everything else happened and it was too late.”

“We can go this weekend?”

“Really?” Jon hadn't been expecting Martin to say yes so easily, but then in hindsight why would he have said no? He was friends with Tim too, and had still been friends with him at the end, unlike Jon. Martin probably had more right to want to visit than Jon did.

“I've only been once since the funeral, and not since we brought the world back. I'd like to go again.”

Jon nods. “Thank you.”

-

The Saturday dawns bright and clear, almost in mockery of what their plans are for the day. Martin's inner poet would prefer it to be dark and grey, gloomy like their grim task. Jon is just glad it's not raining – the damp makes his joints ache even more than usual, and the day is already going to be miserable enough.

The graveyard is just outside of London, and Martin takes the wheel, leaving Jon to hold the bunch of flowers they'd got from the florist down the street from their flat. It's a relatively short drive and they spend it listening to the radio and bickering about what music is best – Martin never fails to be delighted by Jon's eccentric music taste that ranges from obscure genre bands to a very well-hidden love of generic pop, via the occasional foray into something close to heavy metal. Georgie had not long ago pulled out photos of his alternative phase at uni to Jon's utter mortification and Martin's absolute joy.

The car park is almost empty when they get there, and Martin leads the way around the gravestones, Jon taking care that his cane doesn't snag on the grass. It's a short walk until they reach their destination.

_Daniel Stoker_

_Beloved son, brother, friend._

_1992 - 2013_

_Timothy Stoker_

_Beloved son, brother, friend._

_1989 – 2017_

_Carpe Diem_

Jon and Martin stand in silence, hand in hand, and stare at the black headstone, the flowers drooping unforgotten in Martin's free hand. There's a bunch already in the stand, but they're long past their best, petals littering the stone and the grass underneath.

Jon is the one to break their silent reverence. “I'm glad he's with Danny.”

Martin doesn't reply, but shuffles slightly in a distinctly uncomfortable manner.

“Martin?”

“Ah-well. Danny's body was never found, and Tim was...he was right at the centre of the explosion.” Martin doesn't say any more, but the implication is obvious.

“Oh.”

Jon absorbs that for a moment in silence. “It's obvious really when I think about it. We both know what the Stranger did to the bodies it took, and I watched Tim press the button, I knew how close he was.”

They stand in silence for a moment longer before Martin takes a step forward and kneels to sort out the flowers, pouring water from a bottle into the base and removing the old ones to put them on the compost pile by the gate. Jon is glad for the privacy it affords him, and by the time Martin stands back up, Jon has wiped away his tears. They don't spend too much longer there, just enough time to say their respects. Long enough for Jon to silently apologise to Tim for everything. As they turn to leave again, a question occurs to Jon.

“Did you go to the funeral?”

“I did. It was...well. Funerals aren't supposed to be nice, but it was as good as it could be. His parents looked wrecked, but I suppose losing two sons in five years will do that to you. I didn't stay long. I-it sounds crass, but I kind of wanted pointers. I'd just had the phone call saying my mum's health had taken a sudden downturn, and I knew it was only a matter of time, and if I'm being honest, I fully expected to have to organise one for you too.”

There's a lot to process in that, and Jon picks the one he can relate to the most to start with. “I had no idea what I was doing when I organised my grandmothers'. I was too young to remember any of the details that went into my parents funerals. Georgie helped me a lot. It wasn't long after that when Tim started at the Institute, actually.”

The conversation stops for a moment as they get back into the car, but Martin picks up the thread again once they're on their way.

“What was Tim like when he first started?”

Jon smiles. “Mostly the same. Quieter than he was in the archives, but I guess that makes sense now. We had similar research interests, so we were assigned to the same project, some small thing I can't really remember the details of now. I'd been working on it for about a week already, and was trying to get some information from a reluctant records clerk. Tim went in and came out five minutes later with what we needed and the clerk's number.”

Martin laughs as he navigates a tricky roundabout. “He really was the same.”

“We grew close in Research, enough that when I was promoted and Elias told me I could choose two assistants, he was my first choice.”

The rest of the car journey home is spent reminiscing about Tim, and trying not to think about their memories of the wrong Sasha. It's still early afternoon by the time they get back to their flat and Martin decides on soup for lunch, setting about warming some up as Jon sheds his coat and feeds the cat who is meowing loudly about the injustice of being left all alone for a whole morning. Tasks complete, Jon slides up behind Martin and wraps his arms around the other man, resting his head between Martin's shoulder blades.

“Thank you for taking me.”

Martin doesn't reply, but Jon both hears and feels him sniff once.

“Martin?”

Still no reply, so Jon unwinds his arms and takes a step to the side so he can peer at Martin, who is clearly trying to fight off tears, eyes red.

“Martin, what's wrong?”

“Nothing, it's fine.” he tries first, but Jon doesn't let him get away with that, and finally manages to get Martin to say what's wrong. “I'm sorry, this was meant to be about you, I thought I'd done my grieving for Tim, but today just...bought it all back. I think I just buried it in the Lonely instead of actually dealing with it.”

“Oh love.” Jon takes a second to turn the hob off and move the pan Martin was using to heat the soup up before drawing him over to the sofa and settling them both down on it. “Just because I asked for this doesn't mean you have to be strong.”

Martin sniffs and wipes his eyes. “I know, I just didn't want to make this about me.”

“Tim was your friend too. Probably more your friend than mine at the end, but that was my fault.”

“I miss him.” It's such a simple statement, but it encompasses everything Jon has been trying to say all day with his reminiscing and memories.

“I miss him too.” Jon draws Martin into his shoulder for a hug and they stay like that, curled around each other on the sofa for a long moment before Martin eventually pulls away to wipe his eyes once more. Jon follows suit, and they laugh, a little wetly, at the state the other is in.

“God, we're a mess.”

“But we have each other.”

“We can be messes together.” Martin smiles. “Tim would like that.”

“I'm sure he said something along those lines more than once.”

He had, in fact, in the first few weeks of the Archives when Jon had been ensconced in his office and Tim, Martin, and Sasha had been sat in the break room, talking about their standoffish boss and his thoughts on things from Martin's research to Tim's dress sense – which Jon hadn't had a problem with in Research, but apparently was not _au fait_ in the Archives. Martin has no desire to bring up Jon's behaviour in those first weeks and months, so he just says “it wouldn't surprise me” instead.

Martin takes a deep breath and scrubs his hand over his face. “Right. Soup?”

“Soup.” Jon agrees, and sits back to let Martin stand and return to the oven. It doesn't take long, and soon he brings over two bowls complete with crusty bread on the side. The warm food is exactly what they need, and soon melancholy memories give way to raucous reminiscing. Tim would prefer that, anyway.


End file.
